


he said all right but it wasn't quite (cause I caught him in the autumn in my garden one night)

by margosfairyeye (Skittery)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Curses, Flowers, Geralt's canonical flower-picking habits, except not entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittery/pseuds/margosfairyeye
Summary: He waited a few more seconds, then straightened up, looking around for the flower he’d spotted as he rode by.  He needed it for a potion, and usually he had to buy it from someone for more coins than he strictly felt any flower should be worth, so finding it growing freely like this was a huge boon.-- --or, when flower picking goes too far...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	he said all right but it wasn't quite (cause I caught him in the autumn in my garden one night)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/gifts).



> So my sibling and I have been playing the Witcher 3 a lot and this is apparently what happens when we can't leave our apartments.

Geralt stepped lightly over the fence and paused, listening for any signs of life that would signal he’d betrayed his presence. He didn’t like to steal as a rule, but sometimes it was necessary, what with people wanting to pay less and monsters getting rarer and his travel costs proportionally increasing. 

No one coming, not that he could sense, and that covered almost everyone. The place looked run-down and abandoned, which is why he’d even approached it, although the garden was surprisingly well-manicured. The garden where Geralt was currently standing, hunched over among rows of plants and flowers, as though they would hide his large frame. 

He waited a few more seconds, then straightened up, looking around for the flower he’d spotted as he rode by. He needed it for a potion, and usually he had to buy it from someone for more coins than he strictly felt any flower should be worth, so finding it growing freely like this was a huge boon. Well, technically not freely, but free enough for him to sneak in and take. 

Geralt recognized the flower across the garden and crept over to it. Back on the road, Roach snorted in a way that was entirely too judge-y. 

“Just—one—second,” he whispered as he bent down to break off a bunch of flowers. 

He should have been concerned when Roach didn’t make any sound of recognition. Well, he should have been concerned when such a nice garden appeared next to such a run-down hut. And he should have been even more concerned when all of the birds stopped singing and a brisk wind started to blow, even though it had been still and pleasant moments before. 

Instead, Geralt thought he was in the clear until he heard someone behind him and swiveled around with a handful of flowers. She was young, or at least she looked young, although her eyes were shrewd and knowing. She was dressed like anyone else from the region, with the addition of a bracelet made of small bones. And she looked angry as all hell. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” 

It would be easier to evade the question if he wasn’t holding a bunch of difficult-to-find, just picked flowers. “I’m a Witcher,” he says carefully. “I—am commandeering these flowers.” 

The woman—Geralt was almost certain she was a witch—looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and skepticism, a look Geralt was incredibly familiar with. “You’re stealing my flowers.” 

“Yes. But I need them. It’s important.” It wasn’t entirely false. He did need them, and it was important. But the town had been living with this monster on its borders for long enough that he probably could have waited to find an herbalist. But admitting that he couldn’t really afford to buy the flowers made him sound much less impressive.

“Well then you’ll be happy to pay me for them. And the ones you’ve trampled.”

Geralt opened his mouth to argue, and then looked down and scowled. He had, in fact, done a remarkably bad job of not trampling other plants on the way over to the flowers. In his defense, he could be fairly single-minded when he saw something he wanted or needed. And he had really needed the flowers. “How much?”

The woman smiled like she’d won. Geralt was starting to really dislike her. “Two hundred eighty-four coins.” 

Geralt’s scowl deepened. As though he would pay _more_ for the honor of picking them than any herbalist would charge. As though he had anything close to that much on his person. “That’s insane. Just let me take them.”

“Not a chance. Maybe you shouldn’t go stealing from people if you can’t pay the price.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t let your house look so abandoned if you want people to know they shouldn’t steal from it.”

The woman rolled her eyes and waved her hand, muttering, and the dilapidated house faded away, replaced by a grand and very much well-kept one. Fucking witches. 

“Fine,” Geralt said, “but I still can’t pay you. And I’m still taking the flowers.”

He side-stepped to avoid the woman and made his way out of the garden, the flowers clutched tightly in his hand. He had far more important things to think about than an overgrown witch, and he was eager to get to a fight that involved indiscriminate hacking at some monster instead of verbal sparring. 

“Once last chance to pay. Or apologize,” she called after him. She sounded like she thought he would actually do either. Obviously, she wasn’t familiar with witchers. “Turn and face me or you’ll be sorry!” 

Enough was enough. Geralt turned to face her and cast Aard before she could react, knocking her back onto the ground. There, dealt with. He walked back over to Roach and stowed the flowers in his pocket, ready to move on. 

He didn’t hear the woman muttering as he rode away, nor did he see her moving her hands around. If he had, he might have realized she wasn’t just about to let him get away with no repercussions. He might have been able to do something about it. 

Instead, he only figured out something was wrong when he was making camp later that night, undressing at a small stream to try to wash the monster entrails off of his hair and clothing. He wasn’t even thinking about the flowers—he’d grabbed a few extra ones, it turned out, and had just tucked them away into his belt, planning to make some extra potions later on—and he really was not thinking about the witch from earlier. 

He pulled off his clothing, depositing them haphazardly on the stream bank, and stepped into the cool stream. And immediately started feeling ill.

Geralt fell to his knees in the shallow water. This wasn’t a normal post-fight feeling; his head was spinning and his stomach was roiling and he thought he might pass out or throw up or possibly both. 

_Maybe it’s the water_ , he thought, trying to pull himself together. He lunged for the dry ground, looking for a tree root or something to brace himself against while he heaved himself out of the water. He grabbed onto the first thing his hand caught and started pulling. 

Just like that, his symptoms disappeared. He felt fine.

Geralt blinked. _What the fuck_. 

He glanced at his hand. He was holding his belt. Nothing magic about it, just a normal leather belt. He dropped it back onto the ground, just as a test. The dizziness and nausea came roaring back. He felt around frantically for the belt and the sick feelings subsided as soon as his hand closed around it again. _What the actual fuck._

_“_ It’s that goddamned witch,” he said aloud, tearing himself out of the stream. Monster entrails be damned, he was going right back there to make her fix whatever she’d done. 

Geralt was almost afraid to let the belt out of his hands, but it seemed to have the same effect when wrapped around his waist, the extra flowers pressed against his armor. This was not how he wanted to spend his evening. Roach obviously agreed, giving him no small amount of sideways looks as he packed her back up and they out on the road again. 

Luckily, they weren’t too far, and reached the house with the garden before dawn, and before Geralt had time to think about how going back might not actually be the best idea after all. The house was back in its glamoured state, looking worn-down and empty. Geralt reflected that he should probably knock, but he was dying for a bath and this fucking witch was spoiling his plans, so screw being polite. 

He was tempted to kick in the door, but that would be loud and attract attention, and he didn’t know if anyone else was hidden around here. So instead, he settled for shouting. Loudly and with the most colorful insults he could think up while worried that he had acquired some sort of terrible illness that had something to do with his clothing. 

Finally, the witch walked out onto the house’s porch, looking incredibly bored. “It’s the middle of the night, what do you want?”

“Take it back.” Geralt said firmly. “Whatever you did to me, take it back!”

“Oh, that?” She smiled, and it was all teeth. “Just a minor curse, since you refused to pay with coin.” 

“A curse?” Geralt’s hands flexed unconsciously into fists. “On my fucking belt? Take it back.”

The witch laughed. “Oh no, that’s just coincidence. It’s the flowers, of course. The ones tucked into your belt. The ones you _stole_ from me.” Geralt glared, and she just laughed harder. 

“The flowers are making me sick?”

“No, the lack of them. Any time you spend without a flower on your person—any flower, mind you, not these ones in particular—will lead to sickness, desperation, possibly death,” she replied, sounding proud. “Excellently befitting curse, don’t you agree?”

Geralt pulled out his sword and ran at her, but she disappeared in a flash, leaving him standing on an empty doorstep, in front of a locked door that he couldn’t seem to break down (and not for lack of trying). 

Eventually, annoyed and out of options, they rode off. The farther Geralt got, the more ridiculous the whole situation seemed. He’d been stealing plants his whole life, and nothing had come of it before; not to mention that the curse seemed a bit harsh for the crime, maybe the curse would just wear off, or he could find an antidote. Until then, he’d just…wear a fucking flower somewhere on him. It could be worse… 

“…and that’s what happened,” Geralt finishes. He begrudgingly meets the two pairs of eyes staring at him from across the table, both of them looking like their birthdays have come early. In suspiciously different ways.

“So you have to wear a flower? For the rest of your life?” Geralt glares at Yennefer. She’s grinning and he didn’t really need the summary, considering he’s just spoken for an exceedingly long time to give them the full story. 

“Hopefully. Not. Forever,” Geralt grits out. 

“But you’re wearing one right now? Right now as we speak you have a flower hidden somewhere,” Jaskier gestures vaguely at Geralt’s torso, “on your body?” 

Geralt glares. Jaskier looks so excited that he might vibrate out of his skin, and he can tell from Yennefer’s expression that she’s already gleefully thinking of ways to make this painful and annoying for him. Why, oh why does he ever let people near him?

“Yes,” he sighs, and produces a small yellow flower in his hand. He honestly can’t tell who is giggling more. 

“So, if I were to take it—?” Yennefer plucks it out of his fingers and Geralt feels immediately ill. He curls over himself, bending towards the table, trying not to be too obvious about his distress. Rationally, he can see the purpose of her examining the curse, if they’re going to try to break it, but all he wants is to get his hands back on that damn bloom. 

“What is wrong with you?”

Geralt can vaguely hear Jaskier yelling at Yennefer, which…isn’t the worst outcome here. His vision is going slightly sideways and his heart is beating far too quickly when he feels something slip into his hair and immediately everything feels better. It takes him a moment to realize that there’s now a fucking flower woven into the hair behind his ear. 

“So you’re just going to be the big scary witcher with a flower in his hair?” Yennefer asks, smirking. 

“I think it looks nice,” Jaskier cuts in fiercely. “Besides, do you know who likes flowers more than wolves?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “Everyone.”

Geralt isn’t sure if they’re going to go at each others’ throats, or dissolve into collective laughter. So, this is mostly a normal conversation for the three of them. Except for the flower part. 

“And _this_ ,” Yennefer is saying, “is why you don’t fuck with women who are more powerful than you.”

Geralt looks to Jaskier for help arguing that particular point, but Jaskier is just nodding sagely. Fucking great. 

Geralt leans his forehead on the table as they start talking about how nice it would be to establish some flower gardens, since they’re going to need so many. Geralt groans. He really needs new friends (partners?). And a nap. But still, a flower garden might be nice. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I promise this is not the last fic I am writing for this fandom and the other ones will be better. please come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://margosfairyeye.tumblr.com)


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